


5 Times Darcy Saved an Avenger and 1 Time an Avenger Saved Her

by yin_again



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:20:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yin_again/pseuds/yin_again
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just what it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Darcy Saved an Avenger and 1 Time an Avenger Saved Her

1\. Iron Man  
Steve sometimes has problems with nuance. Like, the difference between enthralled and mildly bored. The difference between thrilled and mildly bored. The difference between totally gung-ho and mildly bored. Between play-scared and just-on-the-edge-of-a-panic-attack shit-scared. Which is what Tony Stark is right now. They are at a pool party in the Hamptons, which has become their weekend retreat of choice since the temp in the city had gone past the 95 degree mark.

  
Steve’s trying to push Tony into the pool, and Tony’s clinging desperately to Steve's wrist. Darcy can see that Tony’s about five seconds from a waterboarding flashback. She skids to a stop beside them and grabs Tony's other hand. He holds on with a death-grip and looks pleadingly at her.

  
''What's it worth to ya, Stark?" she says, laughing. Under her breath, she says firmly to Steve “Don't."

  
Steve looks confused, but lets Darcy pull Tony back onto dry land. Before either man can speak, she dances away, singing "Tony owes me a car!"

  
She doesn’t accept the Ferrari, but she does keep the shiny black Acura SUV, mostly because it looks like a SHIELD car.

2\. The Black Widow  
Darcy snags Natasha by the arm-gently-and leads her into one of the bathrooms a few doors down from the living room. "Okay," she says, "pee on this." She hands Natasha a drugstore bag with an at-home pregnancy test inside.

  
''What the...” Natasha starts, but Darcy cuts her off.

  
"You're 2 weeks late, so pee on this." Natasha opens her mouth to say some thing, but Darcy just pushes her toward one of the stalls. A few minutes later, Natasha comes back with the plastic thingy in her hand. She turns it so that Darcy can see the little negative sign. Darcy gives her a thumbs-up.

  
Once Natasha has washed her hands and disposed of the packaging, they go out to the hall again.

  
''How did you know?"

  
"Nobody's had to go to medical in a few weeks,” Darcy says. “You generally break someone when you have PMS. I may not be a rocket scientist, or a superhero or whatever, but I can count. I'll make sure everyone is on high alert for the next week or so-this should be epic."

3\. Hulk  
“Dr. Banner,” Darcy says quietly. “Can you come over here a sec? I'm having trouble with this data."

  
Bruce crosses the room, glancing back to where the pretty new intern is hanging on Tony's every word with her hand stroking lightly up and down from wrist to elbow.

  
“Hey, Green Eyes,” Darcy says. “Let's get lunch.” Bruce looks back one more time, then rubs his eyes, sighing. He looks at her, and she can see the green flecks in his brown eyes have faded.

4\. Thor  
“You should apologize,” Darcy says.

  
Thor looks surprised. “Have I done something in error?”

  
“Well,” Darcy says. “When a woman asks you how she looks, ‘tired’ is not a good answer.”

  
“But I spoke the truth…"

  
“Dude,” she says, “there is only one correct answer to that question.”

  
Later, Darcy eavesdrops when the couple leaves for dinner. “My Jane?” Thor says. “Will you please ask me again your question from earlier?”

  
Jane sighs. “Why would I do that? Do I look any different now?”

  
“Please my love, ask me,” he says.

  
She rubs her eyes. “Fine. Thor, how do I look?”

  
“You look lovely,” Thor says. “You always look lovely.”

  
Jane smiles. “You've been talking to Darcy again.”

  
“Yes,” he says. “She is a wise woman.”

  
Jane takes his hand in hers. “Yes she is, and you are a wise man to listen to her. Let's go to dinner.”

  
“Yes, love.” Thor says. As he opens the door, he says, “you are beautiful.”

  
Jane walks through the door. “From Darcy?”

  
Thor kisses the top of her head. “No,” he says, “from my heart.”

 

5\. Captain America  
Darcy can see the nervous look on Steve's face from across the lobby. There's a girl hanging off his arm groping his admittedly awesome biceps. As she walks toward them, she hears the girl say, "Come on, Captain. My name is Peggy, or it can be if you want it to.” Now Steve looks stricken, not nervous.

  
Darcy comes up to them and Steve looks pleadingly at her. She stands up as tall as she can and looks stern. ''Captain Rogers, you were expected in conference room six fifteen minutes ago. It's not in my job description to chase you down."  
Steve comes to attention, shaking the girl off. "My apologies, Agent," he says. “I'm sorry to have let you down. It won't happen again."

  
"No, it won’t," Darcy says icily. "None of us have time for this." She turns on her heel and strides to the elevator. She doesn’t look back, but she can hear Steve blowing the girl off. As soon as the elevator doors close, they fall against the wall and giggle until they can barely breathe.

  
When Steve gets off on his floor, he salutes her crisply. "Will that be all, ma’am?'' he says.

  
She grins back. "Soldier, I expect you back here at 1300 hours sharp to take me to lunch.”

  
“Ma’am, yes ma’am!” Steve says. Before walking away, he waits until Darcy says, “Dismissed.”

 

+1: Hawkeye  
“Hey,” Clint says, walking into the kitchen. “Your back still isn't any better? What’s it been six, eight weeks?”

  
Darcy washes her pills down with a sip of juice before answering. “Almost ten. It’s doing okay. Well, as long as the painkillers last, anyhow.”

  
“Did they up your dosage again?” Clint asks.

  
“No, I’m good.” She puts her glass in the sink.

  
“Oh,” he says, “still on 3 a day, huh?”

  
“Yup,” she says over her shoulder as she walks out.

  
Clint didn't say anything, but he had seen the pills in her hand, all three of them.

 

Clint watches Darcy carefully over the next couple of days. One morning he perches on top of the fridge and waits for her.  
“Holy fuck!” she says when she sees him there. “What are you doing up there?”

  
He ignores her question. “Still on three Vicodin a day, huh?”

  
Darcy turns her back and swallows the pills in her hand. “Darvocet. The Vicodin stopped working after the first three weeks or so.”

  
“Huh,” he says again. “It’s nice that you can take the whole day’s dose at once. Must be hell on your stomach.”

  
“It’s fine,” she says, but she won’t look up at him before she rushes out.

Later that morning, he corners her at her desk.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Not here,” she hisses. She points toward Coulson's office.

“That'll work,” he says, “Coulson is in with Fury, and they’ll be a while.” He pulls her through the door and closes it behind them. “You're high,” he says flatly.

Darcy widens her eyes at him. “I am not high; l am using prescribed medication.”

“How many pills have you taken today? And don't lie to me.”

“Three,” she says uneasily.

“Darcy,” he says firmly. “I said don't lie to me.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at the floor. “Fine, six,” she says.

  
“It's 11:30.” Clint says, a little shocked.

  
“What's it to you? I'm taking what I need to work. It's not like I'm an addict.” She still won’t look him in the eye.

  
“Not yet,” he says grimly. “But that's the road you're on.”

  
“I am not. I'm doing what my doctor said I should.”

  
“Bullshit,” Clint says, because he knows it is. “Your doctor didn't tell you to take pills by the handful. You're taking too much.”

  
“Look,” she says. Her mouth is a tight line. “I need it.”

  
Clint crosses his own arms. “You sure sound like an addict to me.”

  
“Oh, fuck off,” she says. “Phil will be back in a minute and I have work to do. Thanks for your opinion, but if I want advice, I'll ask.”

  
“But I...”

  
“Clint,” she says firmly, “I am fine. I swear.”

  
“Ms. Lewis?” They can hear Phil from the outer office.

  
“Sorry to take over your office, Coulson,” she says, sidling toward the door. “Barton wanted me to speak with him privately. Thank god you got here in time to save me!”

  
Coulson looks back and forth between them. “Agent Barton, should I schedule another harassment seminar?”

  
Clint holds his hands up in surrender. “I'm going, I'm going.” He looks over his shoulder as he leaves the room. He waits a second to hear their conversation.

  
“How's your back,” Coulson asks quietly.

  
“It's fine,” she says brightly. She manages to close the door behind her before he sees her pressing her palm hard against her lower back.

  
Clint comes back after lunch, and she really _is_ stoned. “You forgot to eat, didn't you?”

  
Her eyes are glassy and she's listing a bit. “I'm fine,” she mutters. “Leave me alone, Barton.”

  
“Not this time,” he says. He raises his voice to be heard through the slightly open door to Phil's office. “I'm taking Darcy to her physical therapy appointment, Coulson.”

  
“Take the rest of the day, Ms. Lewis,” Phil calls. “You've been neglecting yourself, and that will only delay your recovery.”

  
“I'm fine!” But her voice is getting shrill.

  
“Then it's an order,” Phil says. “Humor me.”

  
“I'll take good care of her,” Clint promises. “Let's go.” When she gets up, she stumbles a bit, and she grabs the back of her chair to balance. He waits. “Come on.”

  
He leads her to the elevator and selects a floor. She doesn't even ask where they are going.

  
He takes them up to the level above the residences – to his personal archery range. Stark built it for him, and Clint has to admit that the place is even more than he could have dreamed of himself. It has two archery stalls. One is a regular gallery, and the other is reinforced, soundproofed and has a state-of –the-art fire-suppression system – it’s tailor-made to test the “non-traditional” arrows that Stark delights in designing in his spare time.

  
The range also includes a pair of gun stalls, a treatment room with a whirlpool spa, and a workout room that boasts a wide variety of exercise and therapy machines. Stark also included a full kitchen and a living room complete with 50-inch flat-screen TV where he can get multi-angle video of his shooting sessions to assess his own performance. He even has a terrace garden set up so that he can have an unimpeded view of the sky. Half the time Clint doesn’t even leave it to sleep, preferring to bunk down on the comfy couch or the hammock on the terrace.

  
Clint sits Darcy down on the sofa and goes to the kitchen. He brings back two protein bars and a bottle of water and plunks them down on the low table in front of her. “Eat,” he says, and she does automatically.

  
When she finishes, Clint starts talking, but he doesn’t turn to look at her. “If you’ll let me,” he says, “I’ll get my chiropractor up here and we can see what’s really going on with your back. He can also set you up with my physical therapist if you want.” He waits to see if she’ll reply.

  
“You have your own chiropractor and physical therapist?” He’s happy that she sounds at least a little sharper than before the food.

  
“Yeah. Everyone on the team has their own people. We get the shit kicked out of us a lot. Tony’s got a bunch of ‘bodywork’ specialists. Cap boxes with sparring partners. Bruce and Pepper do yoga, and Thor’s freakin’ magic, so I don’t know what the hell he does.” Clint stops to take a breath.

  
Darcy blinks a few times. “What about Natasha?”

  
Clint huffs out a laugh. “She does about nine kinds of martial arts. And she does aromatherapy when she gets a migraine.”

  
“Natasha has migraines?” Darcy finally sounds interested.

  
“She broke her jaw a few years back.”

  
“Broke?”

  
“Well,” Clint says. “I broke it.”

  
Darcy turns her head quickly to look at him, then winces and turns it back. “She let you live?”

  
Clint sighs. “Barely. It was just before she joined SHEILD. Seriously,” he continues, “will you let me get Dr. Ford up here?”

  
Darcy stands and presses a hand to her back. “Fine,” she says. “Hey, where’s my purse? I need it.”

  
“Back in your office, I guess. We can get it later.”

  
“But I need it,” she says, starting to sound panicked. “It’s got my meds.”

  
“Darcy,” Clint says gently. “We’ll get it after you see Dr. Ford, okay? You can wait a little bit, right?”

  
She’s uncertain. “Maybe? Call Dr. Ford or whatever so we can be done here.”

  
Clint makes the call, telling the doctor that Darcy will arrange for her X-rays and MRI films to be sent to his TV. He hands the phone to Darcy, and she gives the appropriate permissions.

  
Clint leaves her on the couch and comes back with a bundle of dark cloth in his hand. “Sweats,” he says, gesturing to the work clothes she’s wearing. “You can change in there.” He points to the treatment room.

Clint excuses himself when the doctor arrives, retreating to the archery stall to practice. “Make sure I look at that shoulder before the week’s out,” Dr. Ford calls after him. Then to Darcy, “Agent Barton is rather hard on his skeleton.” Darcy nods.

  
In front of the TV, Dr. Ford uses a capped pen to point to different areas on the projection of Darcy’s X-rays. “So, my dear,” he says, “you have quite a bit going on, but nothing that can’t be set to rights. I can do the adjustments, but you’re going to have to increase your core strength considerably to hold everything in place after. Who’s your doctor?”

  
“Ackerman,” she says, hesitantly. After all, Ackerman is the one who writes the prescriptions.

  
Dr. Ford nods. “Dr. Ackerman is an excellent GP. Vicodin and physical therapy?”

  
She nods. “But I acclimated to the Vicodin, so he has me on Percocet.”

  
He peers at her over his glasses. “And by how much are you exceeding his recommended dosage?”

  
Darcy feels tears prickle at her eyes. Oh, God. Clint is right. She’s taking too much if she’s embarrassed to tell another doctor what she’s doing.

  
“Triple,” she finally says.

  
“For how long?” he asks gently, not judging her.

  
This time she feels the tears start to fall. “About six weeks.”

  
He pats her hand and gives her a cheeky little smile. “Oh, now, dry it up, Ms. Lewis. It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard. May I recall Agent Barton? I mean, if you mean to have him support you in all this?”

  
She doesn’t know what to say to that. She’s said out loud for the first time that she’s got a problem. Clint picked up on it even before she did, and he’s been very nice. And very pushy. Maybe pushy is what she needs. “Yeah. Okay,” she finally says. She sits quietly on the edge of the treatment table until the doctor and Clint come back.

  
“You okay?” Clint asks, coming to her side and standing close but not crowding her.

  
She swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and nods. “I’m all right, I guess. Dr. Ford says you’ll help me?”

  
“Yes, Agent,” the doctor says to Clint. “You will, won’t you? It seems that you’re qualified.”

  
“Qualified?” Darcy says, confused.

  
Clint sighs. “After I had my knee reconstructed the first time, I got a little too fond of my meds. I got in fairly deep.”  
Ford snorts, and Clint sighs again. “Fine, I got in really deep.”

  
Darcy tentatively reaches out for Clint’s hand, and he allows her to take it, squeezing back gently. “I got caught raiding the infirmary when my doctor cut me off. Turned out I’m not as stealthy as I think I am high on OxyContin with a busted knee.” He pauses.

  
“So you’ll be her sponsor?” Ford asks, and Darcy looks at him.

  
“SHEILD employees can’t really go into a regular program,” the doctor says. “But we support our people in our own way. We’ll work out a treatment plan, and Agent Barton will help you through it. I’m going to go work on the plan; you two decide how you want to go forward.” The doctor turns to leave when Darcy clears her throat.

  
“Um,” she says. “Do I have to stop taking…”

  
“Don’t try to stop suddenly,” Ford says, and Darcy feels a wave of relief wash over her. “Take what you need to get you through tonight, and come see me at 8:30 in the morning.”

  
“Okay,” Darcy says. She watches after him as he bustles out.

  
Clint lets go of her hand. “All right,” he says. “Get changed and we’ll talk. Or not talk. Whatever you want.”

  
Darcy watches him go, but before he gets to the door, she asks, “Clint? Who was your sponsor?”

  
Clint smiles crookedly. “Same guy who caught me in the infirmary with a bottle in my hand: Phil.”

  
“Coulson?”

  
“The one and only,” Clint says. “I learned from the best.”


End file.
